The Present
by WhoKnowsWhy
Summary: An epilogue to PurpleGoose’s The Gift, set in that universe.


**The Present **

****

"Sayid?"

Hearing the quiet feminine voice he looked up from the spot on the floor to which he had been glued. Jack had ordered him back to the caves for a few days when he left the hatch, claiming to watch the head injury. Sayid suspected it was more to protect him from himself. The doctor had locked the gun case and rarely left him alone. Yesterday he had finally conceded to Sayid going back to the beach.

"Jack told me some of what happened," Libby walked into the shelter and crouched down next to him. "He didn't send me, if that's what you're thinking. I came on my own. You might be in my territory now, and I'm here if you want to talk about it," she paused.

He sensed her gauging his reception of her words. "I'm a good listener,"

"You do not need to hear what I have to tell," he sighed and looked down at his battered hands in his lap.

Libby followed his gaze. "I've heard it before, really," She assured him.

"Murder?" he glared at her.

"Not murder," Libby spoke softly, gently. "This isn't your fault. You didn't murder Shannon, Sayid. You did what you did out of love...mercy. I've had patients who have had to make the same decision for parents, husbands, wives, even children.

Unplugging a machine is not as personal as what you had to do, I know that. But it's similar enough that I might help. I've heard their stories. Yours won't shock me. I promise.

I want to help, if I can. Have you remembered anything else?"

Sayid shook his head indicating the negative. His memory remained a dark void.

She shifted to sit on the floor, draping one denim-clad leg over the other. Pulling a water bottle from her pack, she offered it to him with a small smile. "You didn't think I'd come without bringing you water, did you?"

Sayid took the water and drank, keeping his eyes on the blond woman. She was sincere, but could she really not be shocked by his story? He was still shocked by it himself, hoping at first that these were not real memories flooding his brain but simply imagination desperately filling in the blanks.

Denial did not work. The memories were real. The trip to the jungle had proven that. Perhaps having no memory was better than this after all.

"It gets easier," Libby said, accepting the bottle he handed back to her. "The grief, I mean, it won't always be so overwhelming."

He nodded, though he wasn't sure it should recede anytime soon. A woman was dead. A woman he had loved, and he had played a part, however merciful, in her death. If it were to be his only penance, this grief should be with him for a long time.

"Right now it's...she's all you can think about, right?"

"Yes," he agreed.

"It will be like that for awhile," her eyes shone with sympathy. "It's exhausting, really. You need to be sure to get enough rest. Are you sleeping?"

Was what he experienced when he lay down and closed his eyes sleep? It seemed only a continuation of the same random thoughts and stream of consciousness what-ifs , maybes, and whys that haunted his days.

"I think so," was all he could answer.

"If you don't," Libby touched his arm for emphasis. "Jack can give you something to help. You can't heal...emotionally or physically, if you don't rest and take care of yourself."

Libby stood then and held out a hand. "That's the other reason I'm here," she said. "It's dinner time and you haven't eaten today, have you?"

"I am not hungry."

"Well, hungry or not, you need to eat something. Come with me?"

He looked up at her. "I broke her neck," he said quietly. He held his still bruised hands in front of his face, examining them as if they were a foreign object, not attached to him at all. "It snapped so easily," he mimicked the motion. "Like glass, or ..."

Libby knelt once again beside him, saying nothing.

Sayid closed his eyes and it all spilled out...everything he remembered in the jungle..., everything he had told Jack and Locke. True to her word, Libby listened. She did not interrupt, asked no questions. She let him talk until he fell silent. Silence filled the shelter and Sayid sank into it, spent from the telling.

Libby eased herself up, touching his shoulder. "If I bring you some food, will you try to eat?" she asked.When he did not respond negatively, Libby left, appearing minutes later carefully carrying two steaming bowls.

"Don't worry, it isn't more soup," she smiled. "Fish again though. Steve roasted it over the fire with herbs from Sun's garden. Looks like little onions, too," she handed him one of the bowls. "Where does she find this stuff? We didn't eat like this over there, I'll tell you that  
much."

Sayid watched as she ate with enthusiasm. "It's really good," she said, wiping her mouth and looking at his untouched bowl. "Come on, just eat a little."

"Shannon did not want to eat either, after..." Sayid searched in vain for the name. "Her brother died."

"Is that something new? Something you just remembered?"

Sayid shrugged. He only dimly recalled frustration with Shannon's refusal to eat after her brother's death. He heard echoes of that frustration in Libby's voice now. So he picked up the bowl and stabbed some of the fish with the makeshift fork.

It had the desired effect. Libby relaxed and smiled at the effort. He liked her smile. It took a small bit of the grayness away. He finished the fish, hoping to keep her happy.

She produced another water bottle from her seemingly endless supply and pressed it into his  
hand. "Water, remember? You can't drink too much."

Libby picked up the now empty bowls and stood. "I wonder if there's dessert?" she joked, as she lifted the flap and let it close behind her.

As soon as she disappeared he wished for her return. Whether because he wanted her presence or simply desired relief from his own company he was not sure. Without distractions his mind was a whirl of newly milled memories, snippets of conversation, pictures flashing like film on fast forward, a cacophony of emotions. It was difficult to process. It made his head hurt.

Although he recalled fairly clearly the events leading up to Shannon's death, much of the past was still a blur. Jack and Libby both assured him that it would come back eventually. But he needed to know things now. Who was he, really? Which of these people had he considered friends? Who had he trusted? It was clear to him that Jack was a man of honor, and John Locke seemed to be as well, although there was a nagging thought that perhaps that had not always been Sayid's opinion.

He was an enigma to himself in many ways. Looking around the shelter at the various and sundry pieces of electronic equipment, he could summon knowledge as to how they worked, how to use them, but had no idea from whence the knowledge came.

Libby interrupted his reverie, lifting the flap and sticking her head in to say goodnight. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said. He echoed her words and stared as the tarp gently swung into place. He lay back and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Morning dawned cloudy and gray. The skies matched Sayid's mood perfectly. He was inclined to stay in his shelter, thereby avoiding the curious stares and sympathetic looks he received from others on the beach. He had no way of responding. Libby's words about the dangers of dehydration rang in his ears though, and the water bottles were empty, so he ventured out to replenish them.

The group gathered around the fire glanced up as he approached. He was vaguely disappointed that Libby was not there and he recognized no one save for the heavy set younger man who had been at the hatch. They had shared a joke on Kate, but Sayid could not recapture his name at the moment. Everyone else looked away, or stepped gingerly around him, as if his pain were contagious.

"Hey, Dude," the young man said. "You need more water? Got some right here," he picked up two full bottles from a pack on the ground, handed them to Sayid and took the empties. "I'll fill these up at the caves today, bring 'em back for you, OK?"

"Thank you, Hurley," Sayid said, the name coming to him at last. He turned to walk back to the safety of his shelter.

"Sayid!" Hurley called after him, shuffling across the sand to catch up. "I..uh...never got to say...uh..well, Dude, I'm real sorry about Shannon. I mean...she could be a pain-in-the... but...uh...I know you..," Hurley stopped stared at his feet and seemed to talk to himself for a moment. "Crap. I'm no good at this," he looked up at Sayid. "Just, well, my grandpa died once, I mean well, you can't die twice...Just...I'm sorry, OK?"

"Do you know where they have buried her?" Sayid asked.

"Uh...yeah. Why?" Hurley glanced around nervously.

"I would like to see her grave," Sayid said. "I...have not been there...I should go. I want to go. Will you show me?"

"Oh, man," Hurley wiped his brow with one hand. "Like...graves are not my..." he looked at Sayid's face and sighed. "Come on," he said. "It's this way."

Hurley lumbered down the beach. He didn't talk at all. He led Sayid to a small rise that jutted out. There was a space between where the jungle stopped and the beach began. Three mounds of earth marred the landscape. Hurley pointed to the furthest one. "That's hers, man. Next to Boone."  
"Boone was her brother?" Sayid wanted to be sure he was retaining all that Jack had told him.

Hurley looked at him strangely, then his round face cleared, "That amnes..imnaz...memory thing must be a bitch. Yeah...Boone was her brother. Died a couple weeks ago...if that...Watch stopped. Don't much keep track of time anymore," he glanced around fearfully. "Listen, no offense, ok, but I showed you...now I'm gonna go. Don't much like cemeteries."

Sayid nodded, and Hurley hurried off, moving quickly for so large a man, back to camp.

Sayid looked at the mounds of earth. Three. Boone. Shannon. Who was the third? Who else had died? Did he know them? Was he saddened by their demise? Had he been saddened by Boone's? Had he been able to comfort Shannon? There were no answers to his questions forthcoming from his uncooperative brain.

He walked slowly toward the grave that Hurley had pointed out, and sat heavily on the ground beside it.  
His numbness shocked him. He expected to feel grief more intensely here, instead, the opposite was true. A curtain was seemingly drawn between him and whatever emotions he might have. Was he a cold, unfeeling person before?

How should he feel? He barely remembered this Shannon. Yet everyone treated him as if he was missing a limb. He could see his hands, his feet. He was whole. She was missing.

He placed his hands on the grave and forced himself to picture her. The first image that came to his mind was bloodied and lifeless, but by concentrating he could conjure up the girl in pink, the game of chase, the lovemaking. He stayed there, demanding grief assault him but all he felt was emptiness.

They had been happy in those last moments before falling asleep. He remembered that. His arms around her as her body curved into his, her breathing soft on his chest. He ached for that happiness, but it was all he remembered. One night. Nothing more.

"It is not enough," he said aloud to no one.

He was devastated but not for the reason they thought; he felt himself a fraud, accepting their sympathy, and ashamed for feeling that she was already his past and could not be his future.

He felt guilty for not grieving as they expected him to grieve. He was more than this. He needed more than sympathy. He needed to remember and if he could not remember, then he needed to put it behind him.

He was unaware of time as he sat there, jabbing and prodding his mind continually for any hint of memory returning. When he got a flash of Shannon, in pink again, but with a gun, He was sure his imagination was taking over. Why would she have had a gun? Who would she have shot or wanted to shoot?

He did not hear Libby's approach, and started when she spoke his name.

"Sorry," she said quickly. "Hurley told me you've been here all day."

Sayid was surprised to see that dusk had settled over the beach. He had been here all day. And still no memory except the odd picturing of Shannon with the gun. The still full water bottles lay at his feet.

"I see you haven't been following my advice," Libby remarked, nudging one of the bottles with her foot. "Go ahead...try to stand up."

Sayid pushed himself upward with his arms and stumbled, his legs giving way. He looked up at her, chagrined.

Libby picked up a water bottle, unscrewed the cap and shoved it at him with a glare. "Drink it. All of it. Now," she snapped, sounding like Ana.

The water was very warm and not all that refreshing, but he drank every drop. At the moment he was not about to do anything to upset Libby further. She was angry and he was exhausted. He held up the empty bottle.

"Does this satisfy?" he asked.

To his dismay, she took the second bottle, opened it, and handed it to him, more gently this time at least, but the implication was the same. He was to drink. He obeyed.

Libby's gaze softened. "What were you doing here all day? I understand wanting to come. You need to grieve. But to sit here all day isn't healthy...and not just because you aren't eating or drinking."

He held up the second empty bottle. "I was hoping to remember something more," he sighed.

"Any luck?" Libby held out a hand and pulled him to his feet with a surprisingly strong grip.

"Nothing that makes sense," Sayid said.

"What do you mean...tell me...maybe it will help to say it out loud."

"It was just a flash...of Shannon with a gun. As if she was going to shoot someone. But I don't know who. That cannot really have happened."

"Well, we can ask. Someone will know something. Hurley would know, maybe. He seems to be the keeper of island lore around here," Libby pressed a warm hand to his back and turned him toward camp. "We'll get something to eat and talk to him, okay?"

Hurley claimed to know nothing.

Sayid scanned his face, wondering what it was that made him sure he could tell if the younger man was lying. He gathered that Hurley was being truthful. His memory had failed him yet again. Shannon-with-the-gun was just an illusion.

Libby approached with food.

"I am not hungry," Sayid turned away from her and headed toward the shelter. He was tired. Tired of fighting to reclaim his past from the void that was his mind, tired of the stares of the beach dwellers, tired of excusing himself for what he had done.

Jack should have allowed Locke to shoot him. It would have been easier than this.

"Sayid," Libby's voice followed him, but he did not acknowledge hearing her. She caught up and touched his arm.

"Please," she said. "Eat something."

He whirled to face her. "I told you," he spat. "I am not hungry. Go mother someone else!"

Libby's jaw set and she glared at him. "You are angry and saying things you don't mean. If you don't want to eat, I'm certainly not going to force feed you." She handed him the plate and walked away.

He dropped the food on the ground and continued to his shelter.

Sleep would not come. He lay on the pallet, wishing for the cot in the hatch, wishing for Claire to stroke his hair, to sooth him with her words. He thought of Libby. He should not have yelled at her. His stomach growled. He should have eaten the food she offered. He would never sleep with this emptiness inside him. Getting up, he lifted the flap. Maybe there was still food left.

He almost stumbled over the cloth covered plate outside the shelter. A bottle of water sat beside it. Libby, he thought. Picking up the plate, he lifted the cloth to find food, cold, but edible. He took the plate and the bottle inside. He ate, and drank. He lay down. He still could not sleep.

Lifting the flap once again, he made his way to the signal fire. He sat, thinking the heat from the flames and the mesmerizing shadows they created might cause drowsiness. As his eyes roamed in the firelight he saw her.

She lay on her side, facing him, one arm under her head in lieu of a pillow. Sayid watched her ribs rise and fall with each breath. He had never seen her still before.  
Her eyes fluttered open and she fixed on him. "Ana Lucia snores," she said softly.

"You sleep out here?" he asked.

"Not every night," Libby remained still, only her mouth and eyes moved as she spoke. "Only when it's pretty bad. Like tonight. I'm surprised we can't hear her from here."

"It cannot be that bad?" Sayid smiled.

"So, you want to hear?" Libby rose up and reached for his hand. "Come on."

She led the way, pulling him behind. They were still at least fifty yards away when he heard it.

"That's Ana Lucia?" he said incredulously. "But she is so small."

"I know," Libby giggled. "She sounds like a herd of wild island boar, doesn't she? Don't you feel sorry for me...sharing a tent with that?"

He looked down at their hands, still entwined. Libby followed his gaze and let go, her laughter forgotten.

"We'd better go back," she said.

Sayid followed her long strides as she retraced their path. She stopped at his shelter.

"Get some sleep," she said.

"You should not sleep out by the fire all night," Sayid said. "It is not safe."

"I'll be fine," Libby smiled. "I've done it before and I'm still here."

"You can sleep here tonight, in the shelter."

"I said I'll be okay, really. I'm not helpless."

"Shannon was not helpless either," he stared at the ground. "I was."

Libby sighed. "Sayid, there's been no sign of them for days. We lived in fear on the other side. I can't do that here. I won't."

"I will sleep outside, you can have privacy."

Libby shook her head. "I'm not kicking you out of your shelter. No way. This isn't about some outmoded idea of chivalry."  
"Then I will stay out here also."

"Stubborn," Libby said, almost to herself. "Always go with your first impression," she looked at him. "You are a stubborn man," she shook her head. "I'll sleep inside, but only if you do too."

"That would not be...proper," Sayid said stiffly.

"Okay to sleep by the fire, but not in the shelter? Seems kind of silly to me."

Sayid considered the impasse they had reached. He nodded at Libby and lifted the flap.

She took the blanket he handed her and settled herself several feet way. "Thanks," she said. "You're right. This is better than outside. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Sayid repeated.

He rolled onto his side. In the quiet of the shelter the only sounds were his own heart beat and Libby's soft breathing. His mind drifted, amused at the thought of Ana Lucia's snoring. It really was obnoxious. Maybe it did suit her, despite her size. A sound bit fired in his brain and he spoke out loud without thinking.

"I remember something," he said slowly.

"What?" Libby rose on one elbow and looked at him.

"My father snored," Sayid said. "My sisters and I," he stopped, grasping at the recollection. "I have sisters...two of them...we used to lie in bed and laugh at him."

A smile spread across Libby's face. "I told you you'd remember. Anything else? What are their names?"

He was silent. "I do not know," he said finally.

"That's okay," she scooted across the space between them and squeezed his hand. "It will come. The memories will come back. Be patient with yourself."

"Why are you so sure my memory will return? Claire's has not."

"Everyone is different, Sayid," Libby shifted to sit beside him. "I can't promise you that you'll remember everything...but..."

"I want to remember everything," he clenched his fists in aggravation.

"I know, I know you do," Libby said quietly. She reached out and when he did not flinch at her touch stroked his hair and murmured softly. "Sleep now...your mind needs to rest."

His eyelids heavy, he concentrated on her fingers as they traced circles on his scalp and everything fell away.

When he opened his eyes the shelter was flooded with the pinkish light of early morning, the extra blanket was folded neatly at his feet, and he was alone. He could hear voices, people milling about outside.

He heard a baby cry. Aaron. Aaron meant Claire. He would talk to Claire. That would be a good way to start the day.

Claire looked up as he approached the fire. She held Aaron in her lap and he wrapped one tiny fist in her hair and pulled. "Ouch!" Claire cried out. "I'm going to end up with my hair in a bun on the top of my head or as bald as Locke at this rate," she smiled at Sayid. "Good morning," she said.

"You are up early."

Claire motioned to Aaron, now distracted by his own feet. "HE is up early, so I am too. The perils of motherhood," her eyes sparkled. "Libby said to give you this if I saw you," she handed Sayid a bottle of water.

Sayid smiled as he removed the cap and took a sip. "When did you see her?"

"A bit ago. She said she was going to the caves, something about talking to Jack," Claire returned her attention to Aaron and was rewarded with a toothless grin. "Anything new on the memory front?" The blue eyes focused concern.

"My father snored."

Claire laughed. "I would remember silly things, too," her voice turned serious. "But it's nice to remember anything at all. Aaron helped," Claire went on. "After he was born, I was so busy and had so much to think about that the past didn't matter. Not sure that's any help to you."

"So I should stay busy?" he glanced around the beach wondering what there possibly was to keep him busy enough that remembering would not matter.

"Claire...there you are."

Claire's shoulders visibly tensed and Sayid saw Charlie stop behind them. The little man ignored Sayid and reached for Aaron.

"There's my guy," he cooed. "Do you and Mama want to come for a walk?"

Claire handed Aaron over, met Sayid's eyes and sighed, pushing herself to her feet.  
"Come see me later," she said softly so Charlie wouldn't hear. "Aaron takes good long naps now and I get terribly bored," she rolled her eyes and followed Charlie down the beach.

Sayid watched them walk away wondering what his opinion had been of Claire and her besotted Englishman. She had been Shannon's friend, he knew that much, but had no idea if he had paid any attention to her at all. Had he really doubted her amnesia as Charlie said? If so, he owed her an apology.

Two shadows one tall, one short, fell over him and a rucksack landed beside him with a soft thud. Misterecho and Ana stood there.

"Found this in the jungle," Misterecho said. "John Locke says it belongs to you."

Sayid had no way of knowing if this were true. "If he says so," he told the tall man. "Thank you for returning it."

Misterecho nodded and walked away, but Ana fell to her haunches, elbows on her knees, staring.

Sayid said nothing, returning her stare. Finally she spoke. "I was wrong about you. I'm sorry for that. But not sorry for being cautious. You understand?"

"I have lost my memory, not my senses," Sayid said deliberately. "Besides, you were correct. I did kill Shannon."

"Not the way I thought. I see evidence and I go with my gut. This time I was off," Ana balanced herself and held out a hand. Sayid shook it and Ana Lucia turned to go. "Maybe something in the backpack will help you remember more," she said.

Sayid picked up the bag and examined it. Nothing about it seemed familiar or sparked any recollection. He started to open it but changed his mind. This was best done in the shelter where he could inspect its' contents undisturbed..

Once inside, he nervously loosened the tie holding the bag closed. He reached in and drew out each article, laying them out on the blanket in front of him. Maps. He studied the writing. Feminine. Not his own. Words in another language...French? What was it Claire had told him? Shannon had known French. She had sat with him, helped to translate the words on these papers.

He closed his eyes. Using Claire's words and the mental picture he had of Shannon he tried to conjure a memory of this time together. Nothing.

Impatient, he moved on to the next item. A passport. His passport. The photo was not as flattering as the one on Shannon's license, but it was the face from the mirror in the hatch staring back at him. He flipped through the small book. Father's name: Hassan. Hassan snores, Sayid thought to himself.  
The official stamps of many countries lined the pages. Iraq. Jordan. Egypt. Morocco. England. Egypt again, then Jordan and Syria. England again, then Australia. No stamps after that.

Jack said the plane they were on was flying from Sydney to Los Angeles. Why had Sayid traveled so extensively? What line of work was he in? Why was he going to the U.S.? Jack had not known. The passport went back in the pile.

He picked up a photograph. It was torn, with burn marks on the edges, but the image was unscathed. A woman. Dark hair, dark eyes like his own. Who was she? Why did he carry her photograph?

His heart beat faster. The picture seemed familiar, as if he had looked at it so often that the details were seared into his mind. Instinctively he turned it over. The writing on the back was not in English, but Sayid read it easily. It made no sense. It meant nothing to him.

He sank back on his knees and ran his hands through his hair. Blackness was all his mind offered. Claire was right. It was time to stop. If memory returned it would do so whether he beckoned it or not. No amount of yearning would cause it to return.

"Knock, Knock," the flap lifted and Libby stuck her head in. "I've got news," she said.

Sayid gathered the items into a pile and put them aside. He patted a spot on the floor and Libby sat.

"Is that your pack?" she asked, crossing her legs and leaning forward.

"John Locke says it is. My passport was there, so yes...it is mine."

"Nothing familiar?"

"No," Sayid said.

"Well then, you need to know that your flash the other day, of Shannon and a gun...it was a real memory," Libby met his gaze. "I talked to Jack..." she looked uncertain. "I hope you don't mind. A little late to ask now, I guess," she said sheepishly.

When Sayid said nothing she went on. "Shannon blamed John Locke for Boone's death. She stole a gun from Jack, from the gun case, and tried to shoot Locke. You stopped her."

"Why would she blame John Locke?" Sayid asked. Discovering the memory was real did nothing to expand it. Still the only picture was Shannon with the gun.

Libby explained the circumstances of Boone's death. Sayid nodded slowly. Shannon holding John Locke responsible sounded logical, though it seemed as if it were a terrible accident. Is that what Sayid had thought? Is that why he had stopped her?

Libby cleared her throat. "That isn't all," she said. "Jack told me Shannon was angry. She broke things off, wouldn't speak to you. You only mended the rift a few days before..." Libby was quiet.

Sayid let it sink in. He and Shannon had argued. He gathered from what people had told him and what little he remembered that they had argued frequently. Perhaps that was why people were so quick to believe he might have killed her. Even without a memory, some things were beginning to make sense.

"Are you angry with me?" Libby asked.

"Why would I be angry?" Sayid was genuinely surprised.

"I broke a confidence, talking to Jack," she said.

"I am not angry. It was not a secret," he gave a slight smile to reassure her. "It is good to know my memory was real, even if it is unpleasant."

They fell silent.

Libby stood abruptly. "I need...to find Ana," she said. "Jack asked me... to tell her about the schedule for the hatch," she walked to the doorway and stopped, "Maybe I'll see you later."

After she left Sayid wandered down the beach. Claire had invited him to visit, he would enjoy the company. He hoped Charlie would not be there. The flap was open on Claire's shelter, but she and Aaron were nowhere to be seen. He was about to leave when he heard someone call his name.

"Hey," Claire walked up and gave him a smile. She put a finger to her lips. "Shh," she said, motioning to Aaron snuggled close to her in the bjorn. "Let me put him down," she whispered. "He just fell asleep." She disappeared into the tent.

When she returned she sat on the ground, crossing her legs, her hands in her lap. She sighed and Sayid watched her face for a moment.

"How was your walk with Charlie?" he asked.

"Charlie's trying," Claire said. "He really is. But there's such a thing as trying too hard," she picked up a handful of sand and let it slip through her fingers. "I know he's struggling with this, but he won't talk about it, won't let me help him," she looked at Sayid. "Taking care of each other is supposed to be a two way street. Like this," she patted his hand. "You come to talk to me and I go prattling on...but you listen. You're a good friend, Sayid,"

"You are as well," He would never have made it through without her, he thought. "I almost hate to ask," Claire smiled. "Anything more?"

"Not really, no," Sayid shook his head. "Misterecho brought my pack. It was found in the jungle. But nothing is familiar."

Claire nodded. "When I came back to the beach none of my stuff seemed like mine. Even my clothes seemed strange."

"I do not care about remembering things," Sayid said. "I want to remember her."

Claire said nothing. Sayid knew she would not reassure him that eventually memories of Shannon would return. Claire knew better.

A booted foot appeared in the sand. "Either of you seen Libby?" Ana asked.

"I saw her earlier," Sayid said, puzzled. "She left to find you."

"Well," Ana barked. "I haven't seen her all day," She left without saying anything more and Sayid watched her walk further down the beach.

Aaron fussed from inside the shelter and Claire rose to attend to him. "He'll be hungry," she smiled at Sayid. "I am too, as a matter of fact. Wait here, and we'll walk to dinner with you. Although it's Michael's turn to cook and last time...well..." she wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. Sayid laughed.

There was no sign of Libby at dinner, which unfortunately lived up to Claire's expectations. This was true for the rest of the evening. No AnaLucia either, so Sayid did not know if she had found her. Libby had been different somehow, the last time he saw her. Sayid was wrapped up in his own feelings, but not so much that he did not notice she seemed upset, even after he told her he was not angry at her for speaking to Jack.

Sayid slept fitfully.

The next morning he lifted the flap and headed for the fire. The awful dinner had not set well in his stomach so he had not eaten much. Breakfast was a necessity. He scanned the faces gathered around, people grabbing mangoes and bananas, heading off to their shelters, or to the caves, or off down the beach for a morning walk. No Libby or Ana. No Claire, either.

Hurley smiled as Sayid walked up. "Fruit for a change?" he asked, laughing at his own joke. "What I wouldn't give for some pancakes man...with lots of maple syrup," he looked at Sayid. "You like pancakes?"

Sayid stared back at him. "I do not know," for the first time, saying that sounded funny to him, and he chuckled. Hurley laughed too.  
"I bet you like pancakes, Dude, everyone likes pancakes," Hurley handed Sayid a mango. "But here, we have fruit."

"I'll take one of those."

Libby. Sayid watched as Hurley handed her the fruit.

"Thanks," she told Hurley. She turned to Sayid. "Sit with me?"

Sayid followed her to a shady spot near the edge of the trees. Libby sat, taking a bite from the mango and peeling the skin off with her fingers. Sayid did the same.

"Did Ana find you?" he asked.

"Yeah," Libby said. "She did."

"I thought you went looking for her earlier."

Libby sighed. "I went for a walk instead."

"By yourself? That is not safe."

"I didn't go far. Broad daylight...just down the beach. I needed some time to think."

She looked at him. "When I went to talk to Jack," she began, "He didn't want to tell me anything. I got upset. I told him that it was important, that you needed to know if the memory was real," she took a deep breath. "He gave in...told me about Locke and the gun...but then he lectured me."

"Lectured you? About what?"

"Jack said that I'd lost my objectivity. He said I was becoming emotionally involved with my patient," she looked at Sayid. "Thing is...he was right."

"Your patient? Is that what I am?" he stared at her, then at the ground. It was not how he thought she saw him. Focusing on her face again, he pushed himself to his feet and walked away. He did not want to be anyone's patient, especially hers.

"Wait," Libby called after him. "That isn't what I meant."

Sayid kept walking. She did not follow him. He spent the day working on the radio the tail-enders had brought with them. He had told Jack that maybe by combining it with the transceiver they could set up communication between the beach and the caves. He worked through midday following Claire's advice, keeping busy, and trying to keep his mind off the conversation with Libby.  
He might have worked through dinner as well, but Claire peeked in the open flap, Aaron in hand, and reminded him. "Dinner? Remember food?" she joked.

"Is Michael cooking again?" Sayid asked. Claire was good at reading his mood and he wanted to keep today's revelations to himself.

The ruse worked. Claire laughed. "No, it's Rose's turn tonight."

"Where is Charlie?" Sayid asked, knowing the musician would not appreciate his appearance at dinner with Claire.

"Went to the hatch with Hurley to do laundry. Not back yet," she smiled. "I decided not to wait."

Dinner was soup, very similar to the soup Libby had brought, his first meal upon waking up in the infirmary. He noticed her sitting with AnaLucia and misterecho. She saw him and smiled, but he did not return it, and Libby's faded.

Claire invited him for a walk after they ate, but he declined and returned to his shelter. There was enough light left to work for a bit, and he did not feel like company. Company came anyway.

"Hey." He recognized the voice.

"Can I come in?" Libby asked hesitantly.

Without looking up, Sayid gave a small shrug.

"I guess I did think of you as a patient at first," she said. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her standing near the open doorway as if she might bolt at any moment.

"When I first saw you in the infirmary, I just wanted to be sure you didn't do something stupid. Then later, when you came back to the beach, I knew you were in pain, and...I wanted to help...it's what I do..." she noticed him watching her and turned her back, walking in slow circles in the small space between the bed and the workbench.

"But I started to care about you...and now I've messed things up. I should go."

"I never thought I was your patient," Sayid said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Libby stood behind him. "When you do what I do it's easy to fall into the habit of analyzing everyone. My friends back home always call me on that. I tried it on AnaLucia at first...you can imagine how THAT worked out."

Sayid turned to face her. "I cannot think that she liked it much."  
"No, she didn't." Libby said, smiling.

She turned serious. "It was like a nightmare on the other side, wondering all the time who would be next. The Others, they took so much from us, " her eyes filled with tears.. "They took from you, too...I felt a connection and..."

Sayid moved toward her without thinking. His hands touched her face. His mouth found hers. Her lips were soft, warm against his. He felt her hesitate, then she sighed and gave in to the kiss, her tongue meeting his, exploring. Her arms slipped around his neck, pulling him closer.

His hands roamed. A nipple hardened at his touch through thin cloth. Libby made a sound low in her throat, broke the kiss, and moved away. His heart beat staccato in his chest. She was leaving. He was sure. Instead, he watched as she untied the rope holding the flap open and let it fall, plunging them into darkness.

He could only make out shadowy movements as his eyes adjusted to the blackness. When she slipped back into his arms he felt skin. Nothing but warm, smooth skin beneath his hands. She slid hers under his shirt, pushing it up. He pulled it off over his head. She kissed him and her fingers fumbled at the button at his waist. He threw the shirt across the floor as she tugged at the waistband, sighing at the touch of her fingertips down his thighs.

Desire. Need. Comfort. Those things were all that mattered as they fell together to the bed. "Yes. Now," she whispered as he pushed inside her.

Now. This. It was all there was. The past, his past ,was locked away. The future, especially here, on this island, was uncertain. Now. He would live here, in the present. It would be enough. He would let it be enough.


End file.
